Sculpting Ice
by morriganshound
Summary: What if someone got close enough to the ice man to change him? Added a new character because I wanted to play with how his character would react to things. Probably just a character sketch, maybe more.


The interior of the car was perfect. Spotless, odorless, a blank space, as were all of his spaces. She had thought to leave the door open so she could breathe, but in deference to the perfection of the moment she had closed it. The car felt like a complete anachronism, an artifact brought from the ancient past of yesterday noon that could not possibly exist here. Her body protested the calm serenity with a dull rush of cortisol, but it registered only as fatigue. She was utterly tapped out. Impulsively she flipped down the sun shade, examined her face in the glow of the small yellow light. Ligature marks were on her neck and cheeks from the binding and gagging. Blood had trickled hours ago down her cheek from a split in her brow; so slow had its progress been that it had clotted partway down and the stain that came after was smaller liquid runoff. She traced it down to her lips, rough and swollen, rusted over from the blood of her rough lips cracking. Consolation lay in her eyes, clear russet brown, full of fire as he used to tell her. It pleased her wearily that she could look out so undaunted from a face so broken. Ward like guardian. She turned her head to see if he was pleased. He cocked an eyebrow. She fought the urge to smirk impudently. He felt the tension rise and waited to see if she had the courage and energy left to broach it. She stared straight ahead, knowing she'd already lost the element of surprise. Not that it mattered. Still, she reproached herself. It was an error. She abruptly snapped the mirror back up, needing the physical catalyst to force out the words into silence.

"Why exactly are we doing field work again?"

"We?"

"You're here, aren't you?"

"I have done nothing. You are the one with dirt under her nails."

"Her nails... So old fashioned. You know, 'their' is totally acceptable grammar now, there's no need to be such a stickler." She was throwing away her every advantage to talk to her guardian on his level that she'd just gained, but she couldn't quite bring herself to care.

"Don't be petty, my dear." A reprieve. Not a dismissal.

"I'm sorry. You're right."

"You're fatigued." My he was feeling kind. "I was proud of your performance." Past tense. Watch it, girl.

"You would have done better work." Complementary but still petty. She regretted it instantly.

"True. I have made very few strategic errors in my career."

"I think I can name one..." Humor, maybe?

"Doubtless you can, my dear. But you were also a strategic victory of sorts, so I'm disinclined to categorize you as a mistake."

"How's that?"

"I did not see you coming, but then, neither did anyone else, and then we were able to turn you into a supremely useful asset, both because of who you are and because of your inherent capacities. I will call it a victory."

"What a shame you couldn't train out my snarkiness."

"One could dream. It's such an American trait."

"Low blow."

"I detest Americans."

"Should I leave?" Her head throbbed.

"No. You're something extranational now. You're American in the same way that I am British."

"What are we talking about again?" Her pulse drummed low and slow in her ears. "Is there bruising behind my ears?" She inclined her head, pulling the cartilage away so the skin was in the light.

"It looks a bit purple, yes."

"Damn. Battle's sign. My skull is probably broken, thought it might be." He was unphased.

"Can you make it home?"

"Yes, I shouldn't drive though."

They switched sides without ceremony. Though he never drove, his movements were calm, practiced, and controlled.

"Call Bailey, have him waiting." He was a short spoken and thoroughly efficient man. The call took less than a minute. She laid her head back, eyes closed. She trusted the emotionless bastard, the ice man as they called him. She supposed it was something akin to Stockholm Syndrome, all unreciprocated emotion and vulnerability and isolation. There had been times when she had thought she loved him, but now she was unconvinced. Besides, love was a foolish conceit for sex and caring was not an advantage.


End file.
